Page 48 of Wall

Oh. What? Yes? My mind’s a fuzzy swirl, and chills are racing down my bare belly while heat pulses in my core.

John lowers his mouth and tugs at my lower lip, but he doesn’t linger. He peppers my jaw with kisses, and then he brushes more across my nose. I giggle. Just a little. He knows I’m ticklish.

“Can I take this off?” His hands have migrated behind my back, and he’s unclasping my bra.

I don’t have the breath anymore to answer, so I nod.

He undoes each hook, and then eases it down my arms. His breath is coming fast now, too, his magnificent chest rising and falling. His face is greedy with anticipation.

I arch my back, stretching my spine, raising my breasts, offering them to him. I want to drive him wild. Like I used to.

He moans.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

His hands settle at my hips, and he grips me tight, his eyes darting feverishly between my aching breasts and my lips.

“I want to kiss you for real, baby. Can I kiss you? You got to know, if I start, I don’t want to stop. Okay, baby?”

Oh….Yes. I think? Unsettling zings of fear compete with the heat and the longing. In the last few hours, my emotions have been pinging back and forth like a pinball, and I don’t quite know if they’ve stopped.

John’s overwhelming, and he’s not going anywhere.

His grip tightens. You know what? I don’t have to fight. I don’t have to be mad and uncertain anymore. I can open up. Give in.

“I want inside, baby. Let me inside.”

My nipples pucker, and my pussy spasms.

“Okay,” I whisper.

And he smiles, the biggest I’ve seen since I came to him at the clubhouse, and he doesn’t waste a second, cradling the nape of my neck and wrapping his other arm around my butt, scooting me fully into his embrace, taking my mouth, gently, insistently, teasing my lips apart and sliding his tongue past my teeth to taste me, test me, tease me until I remember the rhythm, too.

And then I’m kissing John Wall. And he’s even hungrier, even more demanding than he used to be. It’s the same, but it feels like the stakes are infinitely higher.

He lifts me effortlessly, and he carries me to the bedroom, not once stopping the kiss, and I’m floating, my heart, my hopes, everything.

He still tastes like fresh, morning air. I don’t know why, but he always has.

We get to the bed and he lays me on my back, straddles me with those enormous thighs, and then he bends to take a nipple in his mouth, suckling, tugging, as he struggles with his pants.

Each drag of his mouth sends tingles to my pussy. He knows how sensitive my breasts are. He lavishes one, and then he suckles the other, sweeping and swirling his tongue, rasping the nipple until I can’t stand it, my hips bucking of their own accord while his big, rough hands cup, mold, and knead.

His chest is there, and I rake my fingers down it, test the hardness, the strength through the cotton. He groans, dropping kisses on my belly, working his way down my body.

I gasp. I know where he’s heading. “John. I don’t—Uh, I didn’t—”

I was never one hundred percent cool with oral sex. It felt good, the way he did it, but I always worried so much about how I smelled and if he was grossed out—although John always said he loved tasting me. But I’d never let things go that direction unless I was fresh out of the shower. Most times, I shut him down.

“It’s okay, baby. Let me make you feel good.”

“But I’m—”

“Perfect. So sexy.”

He tugs off my boots, and peels down my panties with my jeans, and then he inhales deeply, his face burrowing in my curls. He’s careful not to touch my injured knee, still bandaged but feeling better. He lifts my other leg, placing it over his enormous, rock hard shoulder.

“But John,” I pant, my nails digging into his rock-hard shoulders.

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